JD has been extraordinarily whiny these last couple days. I mean really, really, really whiny. He's getting under my skin. This morning I locked myself in the bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror, and said, "I've had it up to here with the muthafuckin' whining in this muthafuckin' house." (Snakes on a Plane. Get it? Get it?) It made me laugh and bought me about 90 seconds of levity. So I repeated it (in my own head of course, could you just hear JD parroting that one) as often as needed throughout the day to maintain my sanity (or, 1.218.985.263 times if you're counting).
Let's hear it one more time:
"I'VE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH THE MUTHAFUCKIN' WHINING IN THIS MUTHAFUCKIN' HOUSE."
::exhaling deeply::
::centering self, all serene and zen-like and shit::
Right. So, now that I've got that out, let's move on to the More Pressing Question of the Day:
WHY, in the name of Holy Toledo, WHY would you go ahead and put your muthafuckin' house on the muthafuckin' market if you haven't actually given any muthafuckin' thought to what you plan to do once somebody offers to buy your muthafuckin' house? You muthafuckin' ninny.
I am six months pregnant. My muthafuckin' lease is up in 45 muthafuckin' days, and I have offered you MORE than your muthafuckin' asking price bc/ I NEED to move into your muthafuckin' house at that time. I CAN'T "go month to month" on my muthafuckin' lease, despite your muthafuckin' offer to "split the difference" in the rent increase, because this muthafuckin' baby is soon to exit my muthafuckin' womb, and it needs a muthafuckin' place to lay in its muthafuckin' bassinette. And my muthafuckin' crackerjack apartment is not a viable option.
Oh Dear God. I need a muthafuckin' margarita.
I'm laughing, but I actually think I may start to cry.
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